


Man and Beast

by redex (urvogel)



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-21
Updated: 2007-11-21
Packaged: 2018-12-02 07:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11504940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urvogel/pseuds/redex
Summary: Three short hard smut fic; Immortals, blood, and humans. Fighting and yielding. Predator and prey.





	1. Man and Beast

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net as three separate fanfic. Not in any particular chronological order.

Now, he is a predator.

He just sits there and watches. His teeth are white and his eyes golden in the darkness that shadows the rest of his face. Moonlight shines over the wooden floor, washing over his bare feet. You watch these instead of his inscrutable face as you allow your hair to fall loose around your shoulders.

The captain's cloak next, whispering to the floor. Your fingers slide to the belt that holds the rest in place. They linger for a moment, anticipation as electric on your tongue as it must be for him. Then you pull, pull so that it rolls off in waves. His eyes don't follow the movement, you can still feel them on you. Everything falls open as you take a silent step forward. Your bare feet make no noise on the polished wood.

When you force your eyes to meet, his expression does not change. He is the perfect predator. No wasted movement. You don't look away as you reach up and take away the final layers. You are naked underneath, pale skin. Only when the heavy layers are all on the floor, curling around your feet, blocking your path backwards, does he stand.

It is a fluid movement learnt from lions.

And you stand there, unable to do anything but watch as he lazily twitches his belt open, shrugs it all off at once. He's proudly erect, and you have reacted the same. He reaches out and his palm slides against your cheek, fingers into your hair. Your toes curl downwards, painfully. Your lips part. You breathe in.

You crash together in one motion. Your feet nearly leave the floor with his strength, and yet with the tips of your toes you still push upwards to meet him. His body his whole body, presses against you. You're arched impossibly backwards, only upright with his hand enclosing your waist. He could eat you whole.

He is the predator and you are the prey.

He carries you to the bed. The arches of old, ancient wood, will hold you both. It was your ancestor's. It was your marriage bed. And now you will use it for this, this something so primeval spiritual that there is no name.

And you spread yourself for him, for his hands to paw you roughly. You cling to him, feel the sticky blood under your fingernails. Feel his tongue lick the length of your throat, feel the shudder of his muscles under the skin. Feel him enter you in one long, slow motion. He leaves sloppy, biting kisses on your chest.

The bed is banging against the wall. Your legs are over his shoulders, you kiss him until you both can't breathe and then just keep going. He is so strong that you have forgotten who you are. You are just here, and here, and here. You go on forever like this, inching towards paradise. You're frantic to find it.

It started a long time ago. It started with just his looks. They burned you. They infuriated you. And then his temptations, hand always on sword. He drew you out into the open so many times that you forgot the danger of being there. And then he touched you, a touch that promised so much.

And now your sweat mixes with your tears and your blood as you press your face into his neck as the final liquid adds to the mix. He roars like a beast at the conquest, striking the final deathblow. The movements are too good to stop, so you keep going, slowing and slowing.

Until he drops you, satiated. You kiss him lazily, tongues meeting in the warm air to slide against each other. He lays over you, cupping your face between his two hands like a holy object.

And then you breathe.

His eyes have faded from their monstrous light, and his manic grin has softened into a smile.

Now, he is a man.


	2. Fight

He acts like an immortal but bleeds like a human.

You are reminded of this when you dig your fingernails into his back and bite down on his neck. When he gives you a sharp-toothed grin and returns the favour. When you pull the chain the holds his eye-patch in place hard enough to break, dropping it onto the floor, when the first wave of his true spiritual energy comes out and crashes over you. You gasp, sputter, and cling to him as he laughs. He can feel your shuddering, gasping breaths against his chest. Who is he to think he can do this to you? But it is impossible to pretend that you did anything to fight against what he is doing to you now.

Just like you can't deny that your mouth is watering as you push him down and mouth at the bandages around his waist. The whole thing falls apart with a tug at the waist - of course he's naked underneath. He's laughing at you this whole time, but loving it all the same. Your canines are sharp where you slide them against his erection. He curses and groans at the same time. If you hadn't taken the kanseikan out beforehand he would have broken them in your hair just then.

His cock burns your throat when you swallow it, eyes closed and fingernails digging into his thighs. You draw it out and in again and his muscles are tense with stillness. His breath hisses between his teeth as you take pleasure from him. His spiritual energy ripples through you, gaining in pressure as he comes closer and closer.

You let him go before he comes, and even though he knows to expect no different it doesn't stop him from cursing you hoarsely as he comes down from the high. Your vision goes white as your head bounces off the floor with a sickening crack, the breath leaving your chest from the sudden flip. Before you can recover, his wet fingers - blood? sweat? spit? - are digging under layers of fabric and pressing you open. You choke weakly and struggle away from the sudden pain, but he holds you there, only driving you harder for having taken him so far. His tongue leaves a wet trail on your cheek and you shudder, delighting against yourself at his hot breath against your eyelashes. You both know you will come quickly under his fingers, if he wanted to end it that way.

But it seems as though that will not be enough, this time. His erection is dripping pre-cum on your stomach, making it twitch and your balls ache. Before him you wouldn't have acknowledged, even to yourself, such a feeling.

Your voice is hoarse when you curse at him: "Touch me."

And your back arches high when he curls his fingers, ragged nails scratching inside. He smiles and smiles, drawing them out so that you slump to the floor again, and then licks them clean. You don't want to think about what dirties them, but it turns you on all the same. Then he uses that same palm to encompass your erection, squeezing and pulling beyond the edge of pain. There is an endlessly deep void of pain beyond that edge, one that you have been exploring together for a while now with no chance of getting bored. Every pain is different from the next.

You jerk hopelessly against his hand, back and forth until your gasps become cries and your touches become blows. His eyes are bright with violence and anticipation. There is a smear of blood along his cheek that you long to lick off, so you do. He looks like he enjoys it. There will be no stopping now.

He releases your cock only for a moment, to flip you onto your stomach and spit on his hand. He allows himself the pleasure of working himself for a moment, groaning with pleasure, and then that hand is on your hip. The other stands like a pillar next to your ear, connecting the roof of him to the floor. When you feel his head press against you you twist your neck and bite down on the muscled arm there. It is needed to keep your screams to a bearable level as he pushes inside.

He holds you up and takes his time going in, verbally fucking you with whispers in your ear the whole while.

"You love it don'tcha, whore princess, gonna cum with my cock in your ass, scream for me scream for me yessss...!"

And you do, you do it all. You feel like a rag doll, barely holding yourself together as he tears you apart. His spirit pressure makes you dizzy, you're on the brink, scream for him, and fall fall fall. Yes.

You must have passed out because you wake up with his weight still on top of you, his heavy, lazy breaths pressing his chest against your back. He'll fall asleep like that soon if you don't get out from under him. You push him off to the side and gasp when he slides, limp, out of you. Blood trickles down your thigh and you close your eyes, breathing slowly through the pain. You'll have to heal it yourself when you wake up, to avoid infection, but there's no way you can do it now.

He grumbles something half-heard, already starting to drool as he falls asleep on your floor. There is very little will in you to get up into bed yourself at the moment, though you know you could if you really had to. So you settle for appropriating his arm as a pillow and draw your captain's cloak over you in a semblance of modesty.

And fall asleep.


	3. Bedroom

Sometimes it was all you could do not to back him into a wall, sword at his throat, and demand sex right that very moment. He would no doubt love it if you did, but you haven't sunk that far. For now you can keep on playing the game. The game of pushing and pulling, back and forward, eyeing each other all the while. Who lost was the one caught off-guard, the one who was surprised or touched or happy. These were only a few of the dangerous things. When you did break it was a tie, although neither of you will admit that aloud for posterity's sake. When you did break, it was all the more glorious for the long game before.

His hand covers your entire chest, holding you up, holding you there, while he thrusts hard enough to move you forward a few centimetres at a time. You throw your head back onto his shoulder because it's not hard enough. You can taste blood on your lips, on his tongue, when you kiss. It tastes so good, so real: copper tang, salty rush. Not enough. Never enough. Your noises are a part of you like breathing, impossible to control without too much thought. He wrings them out of you easily, laughing softly like a predator in your ear. His teeth pierce skin where he bites, promising marks and scabs to match the ones on your bodies from the fight beforehand. This is as much a part of the fight as your fingernails digging into his arm or the unnecessary roughness of his palm against your foreskin.

Coming shakes you deep, shudders you like an convulsion, and makes him cry out for the first time yet. You're tight around him when he clenches your hips painfully hard, growling in his desperateness. You wish you could come again with him, but settle for holding yourself up despite the grey at the edges of your vision. He spits your name like a curse, a whine in the back of his throat as his everything floods your weary insides. Thrusting until nothing is left, he collapses as slowly as a rotten tree, taking you down with him. You do not object.

Your heads rest next to each other on the pillow. His breath whispers against your hair. His arm holds you in place, your back against his chest. You never thought you'd trust him to stand behind you, and you're not sure you do now either. But instead of worrying you go to sleep.


End file.
